First Blood
by Corpus Delicti
Summary: He drew first blood because he was too smart to lift a grudge. [Caution: Violence and Coarse Language]


**Title: **First Blood

**Author: **Skye Firebane

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary:** He drew first blood when he was twenty-four, because he was too smart to lift a grudge.

**WARNING:** The following fic has **detailed gore**. I'm warning you, this is not for the faint-hearted. This fic also has moderate usage of the 'f-word', so exercise discretion, please.

**Comments:** A quick little fic stemming from my disturbed mind at work at eleven-thirty at night. Reviews are appreciated, flames I'd rather have in my inbox; hors_e@hotmail.com. Cheers.

**Disclaimer:** Eoin Colfer + Stroke of Brilliance = Artemis Fowl. Skye Firebane + Stroke of Brilliance ≠ Artemis Fowl. He owns it. I don't. Enough said. 

**Thanks to:** The usuals; my Partners In Crime: **Blue Yeti, ****The Book of Jude, **Kitty Rainbow** and **Ophelia who is Insane**; and last but not least, **Flame Fairy**.**

***

When he was twenty-four, Artemis drew first blood.

It had always been a fascination for him, really. The way blood fell when it was spilt from someone else's wound. Perhaps he had seen so much death that he was desensitised to it, or he was too far around the bend to know the difference from fantasy and reality. Or it could have just been that it was a fascination, a not-so-healthy one.

Damian Hurst had been in his year at Saint Bartleby's, the resident trouble-maker and pretty boy; the type that always seemed to be swamped amidst a crowd of Catholic schoolgirls from the school not too far down the road. For years, Artemis had been his pet project so to speak, the one subject to all of the taunts and abuse. It had never bothered the genius much, but it proved an annoyance when things needed to be done. It was ten years later and Damian would probably never recognise Artemis, but Artemis was too smart to lift a grudge.

Damian was seated in his usual stool at his usual pub with his usual drink. Sometimes he'd get up and have a game of pool, but tonight there was a bloke up the bar who had been staring at him all night. And Damian Hurst was the sort of man who didn't like to be stared at.

"Can I help you?" he asked when the stranger followed him outside.

"Damian Hurst. Long time, no see," said the stranger, in the sort of voice a person couldn't forget. There was no mistaking it, even when you weren't sober; it could only belong to Artemis Fowl the Second.

"Fowl," Damian replied, a malicious little smile in place. "Long time, mate."

"Mate," Artemis said with an amused smile, "how quaint. Damian Hurst, I presume?"

"How 'bout it then, Fowl? I seen you staring at me up at the bar."

"Oh?"

"Well, I know a place," Damian said, the smile broader now. "Whaddya say, eh?"

"I don't see why not," Artemis shrugged, smiling to himself.

"I _knew_ it," Damian scoffed. "Knew you were that sort of kid. Well, Fowl, I'm everything you could've dreamed for."

"Really?"

Damian didn't answer this. Instead, he turned on his heel and motioned for Artemis to follow. For a good five minutes they walked, Artemis always seven or eight paces behind him. Out towards the industrial side of town, Damian ducked into an alley and opened the door to a ramshackle old warehouse.

"Voila. A right little love shack, Fowl."

"How… lovely," breathed Artemis. "Although I must say I'm amused at how readily you jumped to a proposition that was not set in stone." He raised an eyebrow, and pulled a small tape recorder from inside his shirt. In that split second, the expression on Damian's face had changed, contorted into a twisted mask of outrage.

"You little fucker," he growled, and rounded on Artemis.

The night enveloped the pair; Artemis bathed in the moonlight that pooled on the warehouse floor. Damian stood in the shadows, fists clenched, ready to fight. Artemis smiled slightly at the other young man's willingness to stand up and defend his reputation. His naïveté amused Artemis to no end.

"It must be nice to be so blind as to believe you have a reputation," Artemis said, and it was all he could do to curb the excitement in his voice. Saliva pooled in the bottom of his mouth as he lowered his centre of gravity and loosened his stance. He was made for the hunt, he longed for the hunt, he _was the hunt. Anticipation flowed through his veins as if his body depended on it._

"You want to fight, Fowl," Damian replied, his voice tense and gruff. "I can see it in you, you little _fucker. You want to fight."_

"Do I, now?" Artemis asked, the smile on his lips threatening to widen. He didn't want to _fight. Fighting was for schoolchildren. He wanted to __kill._

"Damn straight, fucker. And you know what?" Damian's breath was heavy, loud. "I'm gonna give it to you. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Damian flew at Artemis, his body pulled back for a punch. Artemis reared up, a cobra ready to strike, and intercepted the blow; he followed through, fluid and almost graceful, and landed an uppercut to Damian's jaw. Bone splintered beneath his fist and erupted through skin to meet his fingers.

"Your skin is not as thick as you thought it was," he said, gripping his opponent's jawbone and throwing him to his feet. Blood spurted readily from the fracture. A stifled moan echoed in the night air, and steam rose from the puddles of spilt blood.

"Fucker," muttered Damian, steadying himself and swinging his leg to connect with Artemis's shin, not half as hard as he had intended. Artemis grasped the offending foot and lifted it upwards, before bringing down his left hand. Pressing the bulk of his weight into Damian's knee, he let a hiss of air escape his mouth. The knee cracked and he moved his head to avoid Damian's foot as it swung upwards.

For a moment, Damian lay still, his leg bent backwards, his jaw bleeding. Artemis stood over him, eyes unfeeling.

"You wanted a fight, Hurst. Did you find your fight? Did you get your feeble pleasures from the adrenaline?" Artemis demanded, kicking Damian's limp form. "Artemis Fowl the Second does not fight for a rush. Artemis Fowl the Second fights only to kill."

There was something in the tone of Artemis's voice that stirred Damian. Blood dripped from his chin as he gasped for air, hunched in on himself. He stood, ungainly and unsure of his footing.

"And do you know what else, Hurst? I _hate seeing another person suffer."_

Artemis moved in slowly, cautiously. The moment had to be chosen carefully, when his opponent's guard was down and his limbs were in the wrong places. Damian drew a deep breath, baring his throat to Artemis, and the moment was there. Artemis placed his hand on Damian's neck and squeezed, his fingers curved in like talons. Damian hung from his grip, every muscle twitching, his breath coming in short gasps. Artemis squeezed tighter, his knuckles growing ever whiter, and he was waiting, waiting for that sound…

_Pop_. The sound of his fingers simultaneously breaking the skin of Damian's throat rang out in the night air. Damian let out a whimper; his knees crumpled beneath him. It was too much. Artemis kept his grip and pulled upwards, ferocious, letting sinew tear and blood spurt, staining his clothes and skin. Damian fell to the ground, mouth gasping for air that could not reach his lungs. He twitched, like an animal in its agonal stages, and ever so slowly, fell still.

Artemis brought his hand to his mouth, slowly. His clothes were ruined; he would have to incinerate them when he returned to the Manor. Strangely contented, he stepped back to observe his work. The moon caught the blood congealing on the body, shimmering with an otherworldly quality. He darted his tongue out and caught a rivulet of the blood before it stained his shirt cuffs. He was a cat now, a happy, full cat grooming himself. The cat that got the cream.

A cat that would be long gone by the time they found the body.

***


End file.
